Chapter 12. Let me have some buds to cheer my outcast state

It was lunch time and Hannah was left alone with her tray or near alone; they checked on her what seemed like every 5 minutes. Sabrina played in the background. The mean woman clucked over how much she had eaten. "If you don't eat on your own, we'll have someone sit with you. I'll have the doctor prescribe you shakes," the mean woman said. Hannah looked at her sneakers which kept slipping off.

Quiet time followed lunch, kind of like pre-school. Hannah half expected to be handed a mat to sleep on the ground in one large room but they were confined to rooms. She hated nap time as a child. Lauren M. slept while Hannah stared at the wall. She was out of sleep, out of energy, out of tears. She was out of everything. She was nothing, everything was gone. She pulled out the rabbit drawing from where she had tucked it in her journal. Clay. She wondered if he knew where she was and how he knew. She hadn't meant to hurt him. Waves of guilt washed over her. A new woman peeked her head in and checked silently their names off a list.

"Slut," "whore," "burden," "shame."

"What's that?" Lauren M. inquired, apparently having woken from her nap.

"Nothing," Hannah replied softly.

"From a friend?" Lauren M. asked. Hannah didn't answer. Lauren M. saw she would get nothing out of Hannah and changed the subject. "Make sure to say something during group but be careful what you say or they'll keep you here longer."

"How many times have you been here?"

"At this one? This is my second time. This place is mediocre. Food is better than some of the others." Hannah raised an eyebrow and Lauren M. laughed before continuing, "And they actually have stuff here. I've been at four others. Some of them you just sit in the lounge and stare at the TV all day."

"How long have you been here?"

"Today is Thursday?" Lauren M. guessed. Hannah shrugged one shoulder. "Then I guess ten days? They say I'll be ready to leave tomorrow but I doubt that's true. They've been telling me 'in two days' for a week. My insurance runs out after two weeks so we'll see what happens."

"Hannah B.? Time to meet with the social worker," the obnoxiously cheerful woman said poking in her in the room. Hannah's hatred for her rose. There, that was a feeling, wasn't it? "Lauren M., you're after her." Hannah followed the woman. She wanted to run but there was no where to go. She glanced at the locked doors.

The social worker was a kind-faced man, still young, the years here hadn't rubbed the optimism off him yet, something Hannah would not realize until years later. He asked her about why she was here (she had no opinion on that so she shrugged), about her friends, about her goals (none), about her school. He talked about setting her up with a psychiatrist and therapist (she had no opinion on that either so she shrugged again) and finding out what resources were available at her school. He told her she needed to develop resiliency skills. She didn't know what that meant but she nodded anyway which seemed generally like the correct response in this place. Nod along to what they say and it'll be over soon.

Hannah lined up for the first of many times for nighttime meds, back against the wall with the rest of them as they waited their turns like in kindergarten. Each cocktail of colored pills came in a small white cup with an accompanying pixie cup with water. Her pill was white. It was small. How could a pill so small help her? She swallowed, half expecting something magical to happen. A fairy godmother waves a wand, magic swirls around her and she would suddenly be better? She opened her mouth for an aid to check. Lauren M. told her they drew blood levels every few days to make sure they were taking their meds. Bedtime was at nine and found Hannah staring at the ceiling for hours.

Hannah went down to the cafeteria with the others the next day for breakfast. She watched as the white doors opened for them and then closed after they passed through. It was a hollow sound; she knew she would be back. In the cafeteria she looked around at the little kids and the adults, separated from the teens. The same horrible eggs here as upstairs.

Her parents visited. "How are you doing, sweetie?" her father asked. She wanted to smile and tell them she was all better, this place was a mistake, but she had lost all her words and she didn't know how to smile. Her father stared at her arms and she pulled the sleeves of her hoodie down.

"We've been able to talk to Mr. Jenkins, such a lovely man," her mother said after a few minutes of nervous chatting about the pharmacy and looking like she wanted to cry. Who was Mr. Jenkins? The social worker? "He's coming up with some names for psychiatrists and such that take our insurance. Hopefully you'll be right as rain soon!"

"Oh, we brought this for you," her father said, withdrawing a folded drawing from his pocket. "Clay has come over every day to bring these." He handed the paper to Hannah who clutched it tightly. An outburst, likely Arthur T., in the hallway broke the silence. Footsteps passed by the room. Her parents jumped and shrank back slightly from the door, in case it was contagious. They laughed nervously as if to say 'at least our kid isn't that crazy.' They chatted for a few minutes more before they were interrupted by a nurse at the door. Hannah had to see Dr. Hillman now, did they want to come? Hannah wondered why no one asked her if she wanted them there but she supposed she didn't really have an opinion on that so it didn't matter anyway.

"It's so lovely to see such involved parents," Dr. Hillman said. "We've started Hannah on an antidepressant called a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor or an SSRI. Unfortunately it can take a while to kick in so we'll be monitoring her."

"When can she come home?" her mother asked. "It's spring break but school starts back up next week. Will she have to miss school?"

"We reevaluate every day and when it looks like this episode is lifting we'll start making plans. Even when she's home, she won't be 'out of the woods' completely."

Hannah disliked that they were talking to her as if she wasn't here but she didn't really have anything to add to the conversation. "Slut," "whore," "crazy," "medicated." They talked more and Hannah didn't bother trying to follow. Then she watched her parents leave through that door and she could not follow them. They could come and go but she must stay. Trapped. Her dreams would be haunted by those doors tonight.

In the privacy of her room, while Lauren M. slept, she saw it was a bunny standing in a desert, its paw raised to its head as if searching. The sun was setting in the distance. Above the rabbit's head was a thought bubble, "Hannah."

Title from Shut Out by Christina Rossetti